In the predawn moonlight

Who’s the Mother of forgetting

Before the brutal knowing

Alone, I sit with you

 

Beautiful, precious thing

A memory cleaved to chest

Which, in this dusky morn-light

I blissfully mistake

 

For the return of you

Shadows are my second sight

And these eyes hold too fiercely

To things of mist and fog

 

Waiting. It will enfold me

Until the machine humming

And rattled, tired breathing

Mean we are together

 

This is the tainted gift

Before true waking charges

Through wish and recollection

Tangled up in dreaming

A Recycled Halloween

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays because I love costumes almost as much as french fries.  This year I’ve decided to be Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride.  The decision wasn’t without a little gnashing of teeth. Should I be Coraline or Dita Von Teese?  Is this the year I should finally be a vampire or maybe a vampire hunter?  Wouldn’t it be fun to break out those massive black boots again?  

In the end though, Corpse Bride made the final cut for perhaps an unexpected reason.  I decided to commit to a recycled Halloween.  This means that my costume would be something re-used or borrowed. Fresh out of friends willing to let me destroy their wedding gowns, I scooted over to Goodwill to see what there was to see.  To be frank, I didn’t expect to find such a perfect ’80’s specimen.  This little beauty was a good fit and equipped with all the right accoutrements: beading. poofing. train.  I bought it for a real bargain and as the sales clerk was stuffing it into a white plastic shopping bag, other shoppers began to congratulate me.  This made me smile.  And got me thinking.  

I am a member of a demographic that routinely maxes out credit cards in pursuit of the perfect wedding dress.  So much emphasis is placed on the gown that it isn’t unusual for me to hear peers speak of the dress for weeks with not a peep about the actual union.  Wouldn’t it be nice if brides and their girlfriends could do a little recycling as well?  Or at least a little less crazy consumerism?

Anyway, before it gets scissored and painted I thought I’d document its original state.  In 30 days, a somewhat different version of this gown will be tripping me all over the annual party and catching beer along its graceful train.

Fall = Rowan Felted Tweed

I am a seasonal knitter.  Come the first snap of cool air, I’m breaking out needles and thumbing through patterns.  Last fall saw me through a mad dash of Christmas projects: five to be exact.  This fall, I’m going to do one better. With six friends in mind and roughly 8 weeks to go until the gift exchange, I’m off to the knitting races.  Already, I’m one set of gloves down.  Five to go.  Long may I knit!♥

City moon pale and wan

Oppressed by tyranny

Of artificial kings

The hum of electric 

Stupor, which sucks and pulls

At nighttime beauty

Until those looking up

worship those artificial lords

 Under lamplight she dies

Unloved. Unremembered.

Sitting in this cafe

Law school drifts back to me

On the steam of Earl Grey

A taste I know by heart

Unlike endless cases

Which were slippery things

Wet. Hard. Like river rocks

And I was a gypsy

Anyway.  Wandering

Off to the Swine Palace

Or some painting I loved

The one I would create

With tenderness I’d lost

To oral arguments

And the black business suits

A walking funeral dirge

Those nasty little things

That make me feel so dead

Thieves of autonomy

 

It will be years from then

Before I drop the ball

Before I miss the punt

With some sort of intent

But absent intention

And that moment will be

The first and longest breath

Knitty Fingerless Gloves

In the time it takes other women to grow and deliver a human life, I’ve knitted this weekend project.  Better late.  This pattern is my absolute favorite and I loved being able to knit a little Rowan kidsilk haze into it.  

These are on their way to their rightful owner as a very belated birthday gift.  Lots of love Bean

In the dreaming

I curl in bliss

Next to Monet

Visionary

Perhaps.  I was

In the naming

For now I sleep

Nose to wet nose

With loose color

With slick, thick oils

Lapping my shores

Beneath a willow

Dripping with green

And then awake:

To the soft hum

Of a well-named cat

Hello to Life

The concept of a spiritual guide or mentor is as old as humanity itself.  However, my journey with a mentor is a relatively new development.  Until this last year, I never even considered the possibility of wanting a one (so much am I hard-headed about going it alone).  Today, my life is so enriched and focused because of her presence.  Her new website makes me giddy with the hope that she will touch other lives.  Check her out!

Frosted dream

Cold to the touch

We’re cast out

This is no place

To listen

For signs of life.

Ear to ice

I am waiting

With mad hope

For your whale-song.

The Disappearing Space Man

I almost forgot this painting existed, forgot I had a completed work floating around out there.  I finished it about a year ago and Mom snatched it up right away.  I saw it in her room last night and decided it was high time I shared.  

Another painting on the way – this one has been in the works for months and I just might get it finished this weekend.  All this rainy weather has put me in the mood.